


Imperial Missives

by Orcbait (EmpressofMankind)



Series: Season of the Dragon [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Comedy, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, High Fantasy, LGBTQ Character, Multi, NSFW, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sassy, Sex, Shameless Smut, no one is straight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-02-16 18:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18696526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressofMankind/pseuds/Orcbait
Summary: Set some weeks before Varen Aquilarious made his move on the Ruby Throne. At this point, he’s still busily trying to convince Chancellor Abnur Tharn to side with him. Ramira Don spends a lot of time galloping back and forth between Chorrol and the Imperial City but fine, it’s an easy paycheck and good company.





	1. Running Errands

The road from Chorrol to the Imperial City was neither long nor dangerous but Ramira Don had been told to make haste and so haste she made.  
  
She’d couriered this way a good few times. However, even if you hadn’t, it was a straight forward journey to make. All it took was a bee-line to White-Gold Tower, visible from all around Cyrodiil and plenty places beyond. And so, that was what she did. She cut through the countryside, riding between foothills and across rolling fields, the ancient, white-stone, Ayleid spire dominating the horizon at all times. She swapped mounts and wolfed down a lean ration at Blue Road keep. Then continued her journey, ever east.  
  
It was late in the afternoon, going on early evening, when she arrived at the western bridge into the Imperial City proper. As she galloped across its wooden boards, she tugged her border pass from under her jerkin. Suspended on a thin but sturdy chain around her neck, the leather wallet was bleached and worn from use. She folded it open and over, so the metal shields stitched inside it were plainly visible to the sentries. In particular, the centre shield. It was a relatively recent addition but its white-gold sheen was unmistakable, even at a few feet distance and a second glance. She passed unimpeded. Few dared slow a Council courier, never mind stop them.  
  
The Market District was crowded despite the day drawing to a close. Ramira had to slow to a trot as she rode down the cobbled Green Emperor Way and urged the horse by the pedestrians as well as she could. She was stopped at the public entrance to White-Gold Tower but not for long. Leaving the horse in the capable hands of a steward, she entered the cool interior of the monumental building. A throng milled about the hall. There must have been a public Elder Council assembly. Wading through the tall Imperials was a chore. At least on a horse, she could use the animal’s bulk to her advantage. Dodging under elbows and past long legs, the half-Bosmer made her way to the spiral stairs, navigating by the Alessian mosaic on the ceiling. She knew the stairs were at the first Empress her right hand. Though when she finally reached them, the worst was yet to come: her destination was six floors up and the stone steps were sized for longer legs than hers. Next time, she would demand a recall scroll.   
  
Ramira was stopped and searched at the stairs to the third floor but the Imperial Palace guards standing sentry there grudgingly allowed her to pass when her credentials checked out. She got the distinct impression it was because she had antlers. Visible ones, that is. They’d grown back after she'd shed them three months ago. However, only this week they’d started to peak through her windswept bangs. The sentries hadn’t made this much of a fuss the last time she had been here.  
  
After that, no one bothered her further. There were fewer and fewer people about the corridors as she ascended. When she reached the fifth floor, there were only the silent moth priests, going about their daily routines. And then there was no one as she climbed the final stairs to the sixth floor and crossed the length of the hallway to the Imperial Battlemage’s quarters. Ramira knocked the imposing, iron-braced door. It was opened promptly by a young man in house livery. She didn't know him. He stared at her for a long moment and not at her face. Not even down her jerkin. At this point, she wished they’d do that instead. She held up her border pass in front of her forehead.  
  
“Oh!" The mild distress snapping onto his face as he quickly stepped stepped aside mollified her a little. "This way, courier."  
  
Ramira strode right on past him and into the spacious, semicircle living area beyond. A fire crackled in the central hearth and the faint waft of warm food drew an empathic rumble from her stomach. Tapestries in the Empire’s colours hung from the tall walls, breaking up the pale stonework of the tower interior like blood on marble. Between stonehewn bookcases that reached up to the ceiling stood neatly trimmed potted plants, not a single leaf or flower out of line. Intricate, open-worked dividers afforded the triclinium near the curving back wall some privacy. Pulasia Tharn and a woman who Ramira didn't know, reclined on klinai around a small table. The third kline appeared both unoccupied and unused. The women were enjoying wine, having just finished their meal. They had evidently been in a private conversation, for the lady of the house didn't appreciate the interruption.  
  
Pulasia sat up and put her wine glass down. “That better not be for me."  
  
“It isn't, my lady Councillor," Ramira confirmed.  
  
“Excellent." Pulasia seemed well pleased. "Abnur is in his study, you know the way." She indicated Ramira's scroll pack. "From Chorrol, perchance?"  
  
“Apologies Councillor, I’m not at liberty to say."  
  
Pulasia nodded, she knew well enough the courier couldn’t speak as to the content of the missive. However, that didn't mean most didn't run their mouths when prompted regardless. Perhaps, she was one of the few that didn’t? Pulasia imagined that was the reason her husband liked the Bosmer. She smiled to herself, amused. Well, one of the reasons, anyway.  
  
“I haven’t seen him in two days.” Pulasia shook her head and picked up her wine glass once more. “Whatever he’s instigating, tell him I don’t have time until the day after tomorrow.”  
  
Ramira nodded. “I will.”  
  
“And remind him he has to eat.” Pulasia gave Ramira's road-worn appearance a look over. “There is surely enough for a guest, too.” She turned to the young man, who had reappeared with a carafe of wine to refill the noblewomen their glasses. "Atticus, see to it, in case my husband decides not to starve today.”  
  
Atticus topped up her glass. “Right away, lady Tharn."  
  
"Thank you, Councillor." Ramira made a neat little bow.  
  
Pulasia waved the gratitude away and reclined again, returning her attention to the other woman. They spoke in a soft dialect Ramira couldn’t quite understand. When the lady reached up to stroke Pulasia’s cheek, Ramira turned on her heels and made herself scarce. She dodged into the library adjoining the living area and followed the tower’s curve all the way to the end. She climbed up the spiral staircase there and crossed the landing. The door to the battlemage’s study stood open on a crack. She wondered if he already knew it was her. Surely, she’d tripped half a dozen wards on the way here? She knocked anyway, for she knew he didn’t appreciate being spooked.  
  
“I'm not hungry and I don't need anything. Leave me.”  
  
Ramira poked her head around the door. Abnur Tharn was sitting behind his desk. He appeared to be copying passages down from a tome he was perusing. His study was spacious but it didn’t look it. No doubt the ceiling high bookcases, all dark wood and crammed beyond capacity, were the cause of it. They leaned in as if of a mind to spill their contents. Beyond the bookcases, it was sparsely furnished. Beside his desk, there were several tables, all of them overtaken by alchemy equipment and stranger, more curious devices that Ramira had no idea about. And books. There were so many books. Laying on tables, standing in crates or stacked in orderly piles. They were everywhere.  
  
“I have a message from the Duke of Chorrol, my lord Chancellor,” Ramira said as she entered.  
  
At her reply, Abnur looked up from his research. Amusement replaced the wrinkle of his annoyed frown when he saw who’d come in. He leaned back in his seat. “I take it back.”  
  
Ramira crossed the study to hand him the scroll case she’d been given. On the few stretches of bare wall between bookcases hung artwork. There were many, impressive pieces. None of which she knew, save for the one behind and to the left of him because she had painted it herself. It was a coastal view of sorts, unclear and dream-like in its broad strokes and muted colours. Only one area had been painted in any detail, its shapes sharp and precise, drawing the eye. It was an Imperial coastal town, something about it vaguely reminiscent of Seyda Neen.  
  
Abnur watched Ramira walk right on by his desk and him, evidently enthralled by her own handiwork. He put his quill down and shoved his chair back, glancing across his shoulder. "Painted by a gifted artist though not widely recognised." His gaze moved from the short mer to the painting she'd made. It was easily her best piece thus far. He liked how malleable the composition was to the eye, like shapes seen in clouds. It made it seem as if the oil painting was ever changing. He doubted the depicted scenery was anything she’d seen on Nirn. He had some theories, of course.  
  
“Yes, I imagine it’s difficult to gain public recognition when key pieces are sequestered by cloistered collectors." Ramira glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. A hint of mirth set sparkles to her green eyes.  
  
“I don’t see how they are to blame.” Abnur rose and turned to face her, leaning against his desk. He put his hands on either side of him. “I heard its hard for her to make ends meet, as an artist.” He pursed his lips but it did little to hide his amusement. "She runs an odd job on the side, far beneath her capabilities if anyone asked me. She should paint more.”  
  
“I heard she’d found a wealthy patron.” Ramira turned away from the painting. She walked back to the battlemage and gave him the sealed scroll case she’d carried from Chorrol.   
  
Abnur accepted the missive and put it on his desk without so much as looking at it, his smile turning wry at her comment. “Is that so?”  
  
She glanced up at him, an impudent look creeping onto her face. "Yes, though, if what you say is true then that must have turned out a disappointing affair."  
  
He leaned down towards her, his expression faux pensive. They were all but nose to nose. "Perhaps she should ask him,” he mused before his gaze flicked to hers. “If there is anything she needs.”  
  
"Perhaps, she thinks he'd be far too pleased with himself if she did that."  
  
Abnur straightened, leaning on his hands as he watched the poorly hidden mirth dance behind her green eyes. "What are you waiting for, little mer? " he asked, his tone amused and just a shade mocking. "A written invitation?"  
  
The impish grin that unfurled around her lips made him want to kiss her. She reached for the collar of his breastplate with both hands, put a foot on the rim of his left greave and then right cuisse and gave herself a leg up to eye-height. She leaned her head sideways, her expression expectant as her gaze flicked from his eyes to his lips and back.  
  
He reached for the back of her head, smoothing the windswept auburn locks. He crooked an eyebrow. “Are you a mer or a squirrel?”  
  
The chittering noise she made in response, softened his smirk with genuine fondness. She kissed him and he smiled against her pecks. Of course, the Bosmer could mimic forest animals. He should have known. He put an arm under her bum to keep her put and enjoyed the firm press of her hips against his when she braced her thighs around his waist. It drew an emphatic twitch from his loins.  
  
He reached under her loincloth from around her back, brushing his fingertips past her soft skin. At his touch, a whimper escaped her amid their kisses and he could feel moist gather there when his fingertips slipped between her folds. A shiver of pleasure made her tremble against him when he teased her and it send a spike of need straight down his spine. A groan wormed itself from him. Perhaps there was something he needed, after all.


	2. Dinner For Two

Her hands moved down his chest and to his sides, tugging at the straps keeping his breastplate in place. The impatient strength behind them made him smirk into their kiss. She made a noise of complaint when he stopped touching her and instead reached around her back to his upper arm to undo the straps securing his spaulders. Shifting his hold on her, he then did the same with the other. The combined weight with his breastplate made the armour clatter down the second Ramira pulled free the last clasp. It had barely done so or her industrious hands had already moved, one pulling his tunica from his pants despite its sturdy fabric while the other was already halfway getting rid of his belt.  
  
He reached for the back of his tunica and pulled it over his head, discarding the garment. She pushed the fabric of his breeches out of the way and fit her hand around his length, tracing it down to his loins before tightening her grip. He grunted at her firm hold, the pleasure it instilled lingering at the base of his spine. The press of her knees against his hips tightened as she sat up, her hand tracing back up to guide him against her. He wasn't sure when she'd gotten rid of her loincloth but it was gone.  
  
He meant to do something, say something, maybe, but then she pressed him inside her and sank her hips flush against his in one smooth motion. His mind drew a blank for a heartbeat or three. He leaned back on his hands, a strangled noise escaping him. Standing was suddenly a difficult task.  
  
Ramira bit her bottom lip, savouring the sensation of feeling him inside her. Her hands moved from his chest to his shoulders, one slender arm hooking behind his neck. She braced her knees against his waist and slowly sat up. He looked at her, his gaze hooded, his lips a fraction parted to accommodate his breath. She kissed him, whispers of pleasure brushing against his mouth as she pushed her hips down and onto his again. And again. And again.   
  
He leaned heavily against his desk, her pushes fanning the rapidly building need in his loins. Its intensity built quick, too quick, and he couldn't have stopped it had he tried. He reached for her waist, jerked her hips down against his and kept her there as pleasure scattered his thoughts. He may have moaned her name.  
  
Ramira regarded him, her expression was curious. She hadn't expected it to happen this fast. Not that she minded.  
  
It took him a moment to regain control of himself.   
  
"Don't think you'll get out that easily," he said, a content smile tugging at his thin lips. He reached down between them to where they were joined. A little whimper escaped her when his fingertips brushed against her sensitive skin. They became markedly louder as he traced her folds from around his length to their origin. Her thighs flexed against his waist in response, as did her inner muscles around him. The lingering sensitivity in the wake of his release magnified her actions and edged them with discomfort, sending sharp jolts up his spine that were almost indistinguishable from pain. Despite it, or perhaps because of it, the need to have her resurged. It took the majority of his considerable will power to maintain his focus.  
  
Ramira whined as she pressed her hips towards his touch. Her kisses were demanding as she strained against him, her hands kneading and pulling at his neck. A whine escaped her when he touched her just right, the supple pressure of his fingers exactly where she needed it. She closed her eyes in delight at the intense pleasure that washed across her.   
  
He could feel the corded muscles in her arms flex and twitch against his skin. When he felt the first tremble pull through her small frame, he put his free arm around her waist, securing her against his chest. He frowned in concentration, struggling to maintain his actions. Strain radiated up from his awkwardly bend wrist but he didn't care. In fact, he rather liked it.   
  
When she opened her eyes again, he retrieved his hand from between them, rolling his wrist and flexing his fingers.  
  
"Sorry." She didn’t sound very sorry at all.  
  
Abnur smirked. "I can cast with either hand."  
  
At his response that impish look returned to her face. She leaned towards him, her fingers tracing patterns on the back of his neck. "Only cast?"  
  
"I’ll let you know when I want my right hand mangled too," he said, amusement tugging at his smirk. He shifted his hold on her, crossing his arms under her bum.  
  
Ramira leaned her head to one side. “What about writing?”   
  
“Legible only with left.” He pressed a kiss against her grin.   
  
Her eyes lit up. "Councils require a lot of writing, yes?"  
  
Abnur tilted his head and pursed his lips. “I suppose they do?”  
  
She placed her palm on his heart as her grin turned twice as broad. "Well, then if you happen to mangle it, you don't have to go!"  
  
“And do what instead?” He crooked an eyebrow, his hand idly stroking her bum. “Or should I say who?”  
  
Ramira shrugged, the dim-witted look on her face as preposterous as it was fake. He reached a hand up to the back of her head, pulling her in for a kiss. She leaned in, her arms closing tighter around his neck as she deepened their kiss. He braced his arm around her waist and pushed himself up from the edge of his desk. Rising and turning around in one motion, he deposited the Bosmer with her bum on it instead. He'd barely done so or she was leaning back, dragging him with her by his neck, never breaking their kiss. It required him to bend a little awkward due to her short stature but that was all right.   
  
He leaned down and traced kisses along the scarification pattern running down her neck and across her sternum. He lingered there a moment, his thrusts slow and smooth as he enjoyed the way her hips gave in just a little with each push. He shifted the fabric of her wrap top aside and gently massaged her breasts as he trailed kisses towards them.  
  
A little whine escaped her when he kissed her sensitive nipple and he smiled against the soft skin. Her hands tugged at his shoulders, trying to find purchase as she arched her back towards his kisses. He teased them a while longer until her fingertips started to dig into his shoulders and back. Until he let her pull him back up to her hungry kisses.  
  
A frown creased Ramira's brow as she kissed him urgently, dragging him back up towards her. The slow, teasing pace was driving her insane. She whined in need. First with mewled pleas but then with ever more willful demands. Her arms flexed to steel around his neck, her thighs clamping his hips. She needed more. She wanted him to pound her and she couldn't care less if the Green-damned desk would leave her entire backside blue.  
  
His breathing was irregular, coming in pants between her kisses. His heartbeat fared no better. The urge to lay down on top of her was intense but he knew he was too heavy for the mer. Certainly with oak underneath. She shifted further and further up the desk with each thrust, until his hips struck the hard wooden edge before hers and a profanity escaped him between their lips. He reached around her, fitting his palm against her shoulder to keep her put and the other behind her head to shield it from the wood. His fingers tangled into her auburn hair, tips brushing against antler. And then he gave in, burying himself within her with the force and pace every fibre of his being was yearning for. That her heated demands chased higher. He needed to have her. Again.  
  
Atticus had arranged the lady Tharn her wishes and seen to it that two meals had been set aside.   
  
He was on his way to ask the Imperial Battlemage after his dinner wishes but he imagined the answer would still be a resounding 'nothing.' The two meals could be made ready to serve within a few minutes if requested. 'If' being the keyword. She had not been wrong, to his knowledge his lordship hadn't eaten anything since the day before yesterday. And even then, only toast and Rift cheese, not a proper meal.  
  
He wondered what missive the courier had brought as he climbed the stairs up to the study. There was a rebellion brewing in southern Cyrodiil, allegedly led by the Duke of Chorrol. His thoughts lingered on the courier. Had she left? He'd rather hoped to run into her again. She was very cute, for a Bosmer.  
  
He stepped onto the landing and froze. The door stood ajar just far enough to allow someone small of stature to enter. However, it wasn't this which had glued him to the floorboards. Rather, it was the fact that it afforded just enough view into the study to see that the grouchy mage was making a diligent attempt at flattening the small mer against his desk. The fun way.  
  
The sounds that resulted in were rather unmistakable and now that he thought of it, he realised he'd already heard them while climbing the stairs.   
  
In the split second that Atticus stood there, staring, his thoughts went places and saw fit to tell him he wouldn't mind having her too. Flustered at the immediate response racing down his spine, he turned on his heels and hurried back down the stairs and to the safety of the kitchen. He'd enquire as to dinner wishes later.  
  
Ramira’s grip around Abnur’s neck flexed and tightened, fingertips digging into the muscles of his back as she strained towards the rapidly building pleasure. She’d ceased being able to think straight a good few minutes ago now. She broke their kiss and moaned as a tremor of pleasure pulled through her frame.  
  
Every muscle in his body was straining, congealing into a dull ache at the edge of his thoughts. He ignored it, kept building pace despite it, meeting every push of her hips. His mind focus had narrowed down to their act. The press of her small frame against his. The soft, warm feel of her skin. The sheen of sweat sparkling in the shifting candlelight. The dreamy, distant expression in her large green eyes.   
  
When tremors of pleasure made her tremble, he could no longer keep up. Her thighs flexed against his waist as her insides squeezed around him, dragging him with her over the edge.  
  
For a little while, his thoughts drifted.   
  
As he regained his sense of self, he could feel her shiver underneath him. Her eyes were still closed, her mouth a little open to accommodate her rapid but slowing breath. He brushed a bang from her eyes, tucking it behind an antler. The unfocused smile she gave him when she opened them was particularly endearing. He gathered her up against him and righted, securing her to his chest as he reached to pull up his chair behind him. He sat down and the Bosmer curled up in his lap, her nose buried against his chest. The warm caress of her slowing breath against his skin was pleasant.   
  
Abnur’s gaze ran across his desk. It was something of a mess. He rolled his eyes and pursed his lips when he saw the ink bottle had spilt across his book. It was going to be a pain to scrape everything clean and, worse, it was liable to take the ancient script off as well. He tipped the ink bottle upright, his fingertips staining black. His eyes narrowed, a scowl creasing his brow. He leaned forward, careful not to disturb Ramira,  and was just about able to reach the rag he used to clean his quills. He tugged it towards him between his fingertips. The sharp motion send several loose sheaves flying. One of them had a small, smudged handprint on it. Cleaning his fingers on the rag, he picked up the sheaf as a smile smoothed out his scowl. Perhaps, not everything needed to be scraped clean.  
  
Abnur stroke Ramira’s mused up auburn locks as he tucked the sheaf between the pages of his book, marking where he’d left off transcribing. His gaze fell on the missive then, half-buried among all the clutter they’d shoved aside. He’d all but forgotten about it. He picked up the scroll case and broke the seal with one hand, pushing its cap off with his thumb. Too late, he saw its leather cord had broken. The cap clattered to the stone hewn floor, rolling a short distance before pivoting onto its back. When he reached to pick it up, he noticed the short gauge in the worn stone. A self-satisfied smile curled his lips. The heavy old desk had been shifted from its spot.   
  
Aside from the cap, he picked up the crumpled heap of his cloak. He tucked the thick, red cloth around the Bosmer, who snuggled up in the fine fabric. Taking the missive from its case, he shook the parchment scroll open and glanced it over. It was from Varen Aquilarios, the Duke of Chorrol. Another attempt at enticing him into committing treason, by the look of it. He leaned back, a frown creasing his brow as he pursed his lips. He didn't like the longhouse Emperors any more than Aquilarios did.   
  
He absently traced a finger along the branches of one of Ramira's antlers. The little stubs had grown quickly the last weeks, branching into proper antlers. They were still covered in soft velvet as they grew. It had torn a little near one branching point. He stroke it soothingly as she slept, even though he knew it didn't hurt.  
  
"Lord Tharn, sir."  
  
Abnur glanced up, his eyes narrowing. Atticus stood in the doorway, his gaze diligently dodging away from his own. "What is it."  
  
"Dinner has been prepared, if you so please, my lord." Atticus his gaze wandered to the mer. She wasn't wearing anything. Neither was the mage, for that matter. That gutted his resurging arousal rather thoroughly.  
  
Abnur looked back down at Ramira, soundly asleep in his lap. “Two meals, in an hour.” He fixed Atticus with a look that nailed the aide in place. “One without any botanic ingredients.”  
  
“Yes, Lord. Anything else, sir?”  
  
Abnur gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Leave."

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of time and hard work went into the creation and publication of this story and as such, it is very dear to me. I would love to hear what you thought of it! And please, share this story freely but credit me and link back to me. Thank you!


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